The Tale of a Hero
by ekp95m
Summary: Battle is a bloody and terrible affair. If one manages to escape, they don't return to life as it had been. A hero has been scarred. A hero must live a hero's life. A Peeta one-shot.


**A short one-shot over the return home of Peeta and Katniss. After all, not all fairy tales have happy endings. And hero's tales never end in a smile; just a broken heart and a broken sword.**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine. I wish Peeta was, though.  


* * *

**

**The Tale of a Hero**

I was told that the life of a hero was a difficult one. There was the haunting images and horrors of the tale that told of your heroics, fables to others, but all too real. There was the concept that your admiration is honored and others where you are nothing more than old news. Life was cruel. But the most wicked and sadistic fate bestowed upon a hero is the loneliness. No one has any idea what you went through. Your battlescars become your best friend and people are too frightened to come around. The friends you thought you had slowly desert you and you are left with the clothes on your back and the rusted and battered blade in your hand.

I had hoped to escape that. Perhaps, with Katniss by my side, I wouldn't have to live a hero's life. I could always dream. . .

Crushed. She had ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped it into the ground. I had trusted her, opening my soul for her to nestle inside. But, like so many times before, I was used.

The transport jerked to a halt and we were finally home. Katniss and I stepped off the rumbling beast together, hand-in-hand and huge grins glued on our faces. Cameras flashed and shutters clicked. Excitement and cheers radiated from the emaciated people. Feasts and parties were frequent, filled with dancing and laughing that continued well into the night. Men and women flirted and chatted and told tales of a time before the Capitol. All days were filled with a light that illuminated the dark corners of my head. I started to hope that maybe things would get better tomorrow.

The festivities were spirited, but all things have their time. Eventually, the people stopped treating me like royalty and went back to spitting on me and stepping on me like I was no more than the dirt beneath their feet. I was not Peeta, victor of the games, anymore. I was Peeta, the baker's son. It didn't bother me much, though.

Katniss relished the attention and clung to Gale's arm. She seemed so alive with him. Her eyes twinkled every time he said her name and I could hear her pulse rate increase with every touch. They went everywhere together. I had tried to speak with her a few times, but each time I was shoved aside for the next day. That 'next day' never came, though.

Days and weeks and months slipped by, but Katniss hardly ever spoke to me. She would bless me with a simple "Hello" every now and again, sure. However, I received nothing more. I wasn't worth the effort anyway.

Before long, I was forgotten. No one bothered to learn of my story. I went on with life as it had been before. Mother and Father were constantly screaming in my ears for day-dreaming about her when I was supposed to be helping with the bakery.

I couldn't get her out of my mind. Her unmistakable, twisted and quirky smile followed me everywhere and the flowery scent that floated around her, enchanting any who got close enough.

Once the Games had ended, Katniss didn't care anymore. She loved Gale. We arrived home and she pranced into his arms. I didn't matter to her any longer.

I suppose it's not much. For one pounding organ, the one that sustained my life and my love, my district was safe. I hope it was worth it. At least she's happy. The world knows that the Capitol is not perfect and it can be shattered if you were to press in the right places. Just like a heart, strong and fierce, the Capitol pulses life through the land. But a heart can fail. If you push a love too far, it dies. So perhaps my sacrifice was necessary and vital to the survival of my people, but I still hurt. With every breath, my empty chest bellows its hollow melody.

There wasn't an easy answer to my suffering. I wasn't Peeta. I was a zombie, dragging my body around with my calloused and scorched hands. Who knew when tomorrow's sun would rise? First, I had to uncover the pieces of my heart that I sewed into the image of her face. She was the one, but I let her slip away.


End file.
